


The Night of Monsters

by gardnerhill



Category: Wild Wild West (TV)
Genre: Hiatus, M/M, Psychological Torture, Rape, Rape Recovery, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 15:45:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardnerhill/pseuds/gardnerhill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would you do for love?<br/>What price would you pay?<br/>What if your worst enemy knew this?<br/>And why did Artie go away?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night of Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the WWW zine GENTLEMEN NEVER TELL 3. Winner of the Slash Talent in Fandom (STiFfie) award that year (1997?) for novelette-length slash.

"James my boy," Artemus Gordon said ruefully, testing the bonds that held him to a stout oak chair in a dank cellar of an abandoned house. "This is becoming tediously routine."

"Look at it this way, Artie," James West said. He was bound, shirtless and spreadeagled, to an iron frame that might have held a bed once and which was now bolted to the floor in a vertical position. The chair and the frame occupants faced each other. "It's better that we got captured by Loveless than someone who doesn't know him as well."

Artie made a face. "That's a great comfort, I'm sure." He looked down at his hands, both firmly strapped down to the chair arm, even to the extent of finger-cuffs save for the ring digits. "I just wish he didn't know us quite so well. Voltaire didn't miss a trick --I don't have so much as a lockpick on me."

West craned his head down to stare at his bootless bare feet -- with West's boots had gone 1/3 of his arsenal. Voltaire had stripped away the rest of his gadgets as well. "So we have nothing with which to battle Loveless but our wits." He straightened up and his green eyes twinkled at Artie. "Which means you've got me outgunned, Mr. Gordon."

Artie made a mock-bow to his partner (actually, a nod, as his throat and chest were both strapped to the chair). "Right now all I can think to do is the same thing we always do with Miguelito."

West nodded with a rueful smile, and they settled in to wait for their captor.

"Wonder what he's concocting this time?" Gordon said conversationally.

Jim shrugged, as much as he could in his restraints. "He'll tell us, of course -- he won't be able to resist." Artie acknowledged this with another restrained nod. "He usually treats us a little better at the outset, though. He must be really impatient this time."

"Can't be anything political, there's nothing going on in this area and no one important is visiting any time soon." Artie snorted. "And Grant's an honest man, but his administration is so packed with crooks and cheats that anything Loveless tried in Washington right now would probably do more good than harm."

Jim chuckled. "Artie, can you imagine how _furious_ he'd be if Loveless bombed a state building -- and he wound up wiping out the entire Tammany Hall machine in one blow? I can see the headlines: 'Miguelito Loveless, humanitarian, defender of honest politicians everywhere--'"

"Jim, you bastard, _don't_ ," Artie gurgled, laughing helplessly. "It _hurts_ to laugh when I'm tied up like this."

" _You_ try it with a compromised diaphragm," West countered sourly, looking down at his belly.

"Can you breathe all right?" Artie said at once, though Jim looked fine. But Jim usually looked fine, even when he'd had the tar beaten out of him. He always looked fine. Better than fine, Jim looked positively -- untouchable, Artemus reminded himself savagely. Weep about the vicissitudes of Fate when you're good and alone; wait till you're alone to once again curse the God that made you a sexual deviant in a world of beautiful, upright men and who then stuck you on a train with the most beautiful and upright of them all, one who can't seem to keep his damn shirt on for two hours, in close living quarters...

"I'm all right, Artie," Jim said. He'd stopped getting annoyed at his partner's mother-hen ways long ago. "But I really wish Loveless would hurry up and get down here and do whatever he's up to. Routine is one thing, but bad manners is another."

Artie nodded, banishing the last of his bleak thoughts. He turned his thoughts toward a less personal regret. "It's a pity, really," he said, thoughtfully tapping his ring fingers (the only digits he could move). "He mulched, and manured, and cultivated the land for grapes -- but what it produced was bitter grapes."

"I know what you mean." West looked up at his bonds. "That man's hatred of me defies logic, reason and capability -- and yet despite everything he ever does, to me and to other people...I can't really hate him. All I can do is pity him, even when I'm trying to kill him."

"Who hates a hydrophobic dog?" Artie countered. "Poor thing's sick through no fault of its own; left to its own devices it would be a devoted pet and companion. You could weep at the tragedy of it all -- but you must kill it, for everyone's sake."

"I've had to shoot a mad dog or two," West said. "Never liked doing it. I just had to do it."

"And yet, there's hope even for poor mad dogs. Hope is coming from France." Artie rolled his eyes toward the door into the main house. "Someday, surely, a Louis Pasteur for human mad dogs will come along. I can't help but think of what that brilliant brain could do with its focus turned toward love of humanity, instead of misanthropy. It's like watching a magnificent feast tumble into a crevasse while starving people look on, helpless."

"This feast is tainted," West countered. "One bite will kill anyone. Into the gorge it goes."

Artie nodded.

At the sound of the house door opening -- finally -- both men assumed expressions of boredom. Loveless was as predictable as the sunrise; act bored and disinterested, and the colossal ego in the tiny frame would blurt out every twisted detail.

"Ah, Mr. West! Mr. Gordon! I trust you're making yourselves at home!" their nemesis called jovially as he made his way down the cellar stairs one step at a time. The little man was accompanied neither by his placid giant Voltaire nor by his wily henchwoman Antoinette.

Neither West nor Gordon replied. They didn't even look at him.

Dr Miguelito Loveless looked at both men as he approached them, and stood between them, a petulant frown appearing on his face and welcomed there as an old friend. "I must say, neither of you looks particularly worried by your predicament."

"Should we be?" West responded lethargically. Artie stifled a yawn that was more than a little genuine.

An old, old game with this old, old enemy. West and Gordon would feign disinterest, Loveless would throw a tantrum, and then the man would blurt out every detail of his latest insane scheme for power, wealth, land, vindication against a lifetime of hate condensed and purified in his physically small form.

"Should you be, Mr. West?" Loveless said, in the same apathetic tone. "Should you be -- James?"

West blinked. Gordon remained expressionless, but a first little thread of ice went into his stomach. Loveless had changed the rules of the game. He had never before referred to either man by his given name alone.

Then Loveless smiled, and the finger of ice in Artie's stomach became a winter river.

"Oh, I think you should be," Loveless purred. His emphasis on the pronoun was enhanced by the fact that he looked only at West -- looked up at the man from a height that did not reach Jim's hip. "I think you should be, Mr. West."

With that, Loveless turned and walked toward Artie, still smiling. "Mr. Gordon, this is going to be _fun._ "

Artie saw Jim's face turn to stone, green eyes chips of glittering glass, and froze his own expression. Whatever Miguelito did to him, he would not break in front of Jim. He would not allow his own hurts to be used to break Jim. And Jim would not beg, no matter how much he wanted to; he knew Artie wouldn't allow it. It was the partnership at work; Gordon and West were the left hand and the right hand of the same person, not two separate persons.

Loveless vanished from Artie's peripheral vision at his left side. He heard a grunting, a thumping, and the scrape of heavy wood on the wood floor. He couldn't see what it was, nor could he divine its identity by Jim's face. A jingle of a fine metal chain.

Loveless reappeared at Artie's left side. "Mr. Gordon, if you'd be so good," he said, and reached for the single free finger on Artie's left hand. Something shone in Loveless' hand, jingled.

If Loveless cut off the finger? Show nothing. Break it? Swallow the scream. Jim would get him drunk later, would make him laugh, would coax over a pair of sweet young ladies for the two of them and never know how perfectly _gentlemanly_ Artie always was with his nubile pretties...

It was a ring. A plain gold band of metal. It perfectly fit Artie's ring finger. Its main difference from a wedding band was the thin, strong-looking chain that led from the top of the band and extended beyond Artie's vision, taut. It seemed to be attached to the heavy wooden apparatus, whatever that was.

"And now..."

From his coat Loveless withdrew a Colt .45, the JW monogram unmistakable on the ivory handle. It was clear that it took all of the man's might to hold the big heavy revolver. Loveless didn't even pretend to hold the gun as if to fire it; one hand was under the long barrel and one under the stock. He carried Jim's gun out of Artie's sight.

But not out of Jim's sight. And the microscopic expressions that flitted across Jim's stone face filled Artie's belly with ice. Jim was terrified. Artie could hear some wooden thumping, the jingle of the ring chain, the tightening of the length that drew his ring-finger back and up slightly. Something was happening out of his sight that made Jim look the way he had during the Pistolero shootout in the hacienda...The cold kiss of the gun's muzzle against Artie's temple let him know why Jim looked that way. He suspected he looked that way too, now.

"Mr. Gordon, I wouldn't try to lower my finger to the armrest if I were you," Loveless said in the same conversational tone as he appeared before Artemus once again. The gun-muzzle was still firmly pressed to Artie's temple, obviously held in place by the apparatus. "You and Mr. West are quite close to each other, physically," and was there a tone in the man's voice when he said that? "and your skull and brains would get all over him. Quite unpleasant. You so pride yourself on your appearance, do you not, James?"

No answer, rather than an answer that would feed the sadistic man's game. But Loveless was nearly as good as Artie at reading Jim's eyes.

"I take it the line is attached to the trigger," Artie said coolly, every atom of terror troweled flat and hidden. His eyes never left Jim.

"It is." They were the first words Jim spoke, as flat as Artie's.

It was Jim's gun, so of course it was loaded and in perfect shooting order. "This is unworthy of you, Dr Loveless," Artemus said coldly, not moving. "There is no genius in this at all."

"Mr. Gordon, that leap to conclusions was unworthy of _you_ ," Loveless countered in the same tone. "A single mouse is not a scientific experiment -- the maze is.

"We are both men of science, Mr. Gordon," Loveless continued. "We are fascinated by phenomena of which we know little or nothing, and seek to learn more about them.

"As you and Mr. West have clearly observed all these many years of our association, I am worthy of my surname. I know nothing of the properties of love. I seek to learn them."

"Threatening me with death does not force me to exhibit love," Artie returned. His mind was spinning with thoughts -- spinning like an out-of-control fair game.

"No. But something will force one of you to make a decision with far- ranging effects. That something will be compelled by love. The love you two so clearly bear for each other." Loveless looked from Gordon to West and back again.

Jim's face was ice, his eyes the glittering core of the glacier. Artie wanted to feel that icy inside. They said nothing.

"Good, you don't confirm nor deny," the little man said, trotting over to West. "You realize either answer would only confirm the truth of what I said, and you're both too clever to say anything.

"Gentlemen often share friendship -- this I understand completely, via my own dear Antoinette and my faithful Voltaire. Comrades-in-arms often exhibit loyalty to each other; I have observed this in both of you often enough to exploit it for my own use. I have seen this also in my two companions.

"But what you two share is to a mere proper gentlemen's friendship what the Pacific Ocean is to an ornamental pond. It is beyond my understanding. It baffles me. It fascinates me."

Loveless looked up the length of Jim's body. On his face was an expression Artie had seen before, in the small clandestine places where he sought the company of his own kind. He was sure Jim had never seen that look directed at him before -- not given by another man rather than by a brazen woman.

Then Artie froze. Loveless had turned to look at him -- and the knowledge in that brilliant, mad gaze and his knowing grin stripped him naked before that stare. The little man _knew_ about him.

"It intrigues me," Loveless said, grinning.

Loveless was deviant in that way, too -- as twisted in lust as he was in body and spirit and mind -- and recognized the same in Gordon. Loveless shared that with Gordon. Artie wanted to weep at this evidence of commonality. He was furious that the little man sullied the warmth and grace of his friendship with Jim via looks and behavior he himself had always kept under a gentleman's rein. And his belly folded in half at what the madman's looks at Jim implied.

"So the fact that you love each other is not in doubt, gentlemen," Loveless continued as he walked behind Jim, rummaging around in a pile of debris and stacked boxes near the frame that held Jim. "But my curiosity knows no bounds. It is not enough merely to know the obvious, it seeks to quantify it as well.

"So the experiment's goal is to answer this question."

Loveless appeared again between the two men. He was holding a cane, longer than himself and the diameter of a nickel.

"Which of you," he said with the same grin, "loves the other _more_?"

Artie knew what a rabbit in a trap felt when it saw the gun leveled at its head. The rest of the scenario had instantly unfolded in his mind. He knew what was going to happen, and why, and what his part in it was to be.

Jim hadn't caught on yet. If rage could become fire, Jim's eyes would have reduced Miguelito to cinders. His eyes wouldn't leave the long cane Loveless wielded as he faced Artemus again.

"Mr. Gordon," Loveless said. "All you need do to stop me at any time from now on, is to simply lower your left finger."

And with that, Loveless swung the cane across Jim's back, right over the kidneys.

Jim's eyes blazed with understanding the split-second before agony overrode. And they'd blazed with a message both knew Artie would receive loud and clear -- _Don't you dare. I can handle this!_

The third blow wrung a cry of pain from Jim.

"Loveless!" Artie roared. "Enough!"

"Mr. Gordon, I haven't even started," Loveless snapped petulantly. "And I _told _you what to do to stop me. Shouting at me won't stop this." He struck West again and watched the body convulse.__

__"Threats?" growled Artie. "Can you keep us tied here forever? How long before one of us gets his hands on your throat?"_ _

__Loveless laughed, a blithe merry sound, even as he struck Jim again and forced out a gasp of pain. "Oh, Mr. Gordon. This cellar is your oubliette, for both of you. What I'm doing to our friend is the _hors d'oeuvre_. What I have planned for the main course...well, rest assured, Mr. Gordon, that you will be dead. And Mr. West will be...in no state to pursue me for the sake of revenge." And he set to._ _

___I can handle this!_ _ _

__And Jim West did, throughout a savage beating that convulsed his body and emptied his bladder and forced out his breath in whimpers of pain when it wasn't smothered altogether. And he held up when Voltaire came down at Loveless' call and took up the cane, and his first blow made a snap across Jim's flesh so loud it hurt Artie's ears almost as much as Jim's scream of pain did. And he held up when Antoinette came down at the summons bearing a box of salt, a look of distaste on her pretty face, and ran up the stairs pursued by Jim's shriek as Loveless began to dose the bleeding wounds._ _

__Artie didn't scream or shout any more. He kept his eyes closed against the assault on his ears, and let the tears flow out and down his cheeks like the Mississippi._ _

__This was brutality incarnate. Jim thought he could handle this. He'd been put through terrible pain and injury before._ _

__But Jim was an upright man._ _

__###_ _

__"How long?" Jim's voice was raw and scraped, and every breath was a whine of pain. His trousers were soaked and dark with everything that flows out of a man under torture. He'd defecated at least once from the smell of it, and Artie was terrified that he might have open wounds on his legs._ _

__It had been an eternity. Years of their lives, peeled back and nerves exposed. Agony without end. Days of horror. Artie's ears felt nearly as battered and raw as Jim's entire body._ _

__"About an hour," Artie whispered, and sniffed. "Maybe less. A little bit less." His ring finger was starting to ache with the constant low- level strain. The torturers were gone, for now, but had left the two men bound. Jim looked like a gory Mexican crucifix, hanging from the frame._ _

__Jim made a ... sound ... that an hour ago would have been a grunt of disbelief._ _

__"They've been gone for an hour," Artie offered._ _

__"Can't...be...the same amount...of time."_ _

__"Not the same as an hour with your arm around a pretty girl, is it?" Artie teased with a belly full of lead._ _

__"Not even close," Jim rasped._ _

__He was so brave, so brash, and Artie loved him so much and so fiercely. The thought of the liberties Loveless would surely, eventually take with Jim were unthinkable, impossible. Not while Artie could do something to stop the man. And he could. He would..._ _

__"Artie," Jim whispered. "Don't even think what you're thinking."_ _

__He could...never disguise his deepest intentions from Jim. By now the two men were left and right sides of the same brain._ _

__"No matter what he does to me," Jim rasped. "No matter what happens. Do _not_ pull the trigger."_ _

__"Jim, he really scares me this time." Artie didn't explain why he was scared, and what he'd read in Loveless' face. "I truly think he's going to go over the edge with you this time."_ _

__"I'll live. As long as I know you'll be there to patch me up, I can take anything he does to me. Anything. But only if I know you'll be there, Artie."_ _

__Artie said nothing. He couldn't speak for a long time._ _

__"Artie. As long as I live, I never again want to experience the life I lived in the three days I believed you dead at the hands of the _pistoleros_. Most of that time was a -- blur. Fighting. Riding. More fighting. It was -- the way I was during the worst part of the war. I didn't feel a single blow I received. I didn't feel anything. I didn't eat. Didn't sleep. And I didn't care if I lived or died. I didn't care._ _

__"Whatever he does to me, Artie...stay alive."_ _

__What could one say? "All right, Jim," Artie whispered. "Not even if you scream and beg for him to stop. Not if you beg me to do something, anything, to make it stop."_ _

__"Especially not then."_ _

__But Jim had to be armed with knowledge. He didn't know. And what Jim didn't know would hurt him._ _

__"Jim," Gordon said, relentless. "If you're in such physical pain that you scream and beg for me to do something, to stop what Miguelito's doing to you, I won't respond. It'll be your pain talking, not you._ _

__"But there are ordeals that wound the soul worse than the body, that can destroy your spirit more than a howling light or a drug that forces you to kill your friends. One such goes by the misnomer 'fate worse than death.'"_ _

__Jim's expression, sweaty and haggard though his face was, would have been comical if they'd been safe on the train, talking and playing cards. "Artie...that's ridiculous." He also looked as if Artie had just belched at a Presidential soiree. There were certain things that gentlemen simply didn't discuss._ _

__"No, it isn't." Even to himself, Artemus Gordon sounded old and experienced, and he acutely felt every year of their age difference. "Jim, physical outrage of the body is not the sole domain of sinful women and black-caped brutes."_ _

__"Artie, I'm not a woman at all, period!" Jim was almost more furious at the concept than at Loveless._ _

__"No. But there are men out there who are born deviant. They react to other men the way they should react to women. I don't know why -- mistake of nature, a woman's brain in a man's body, no one knows -- but such men do exist, and I firmly believe that Dr. Loveless exhibits the traits that mark him among their number."_ _

__Now Jim really looked confused, on top of the pain and apprehension already there. "Impossible. He doesn't act like a deviant."_ _

__Artie smiled, a very little smile, at Jim's turn of phrase. "What _is_ Dr Loveless' entire life but an act of deviancy and moral degeneracy? His...marital urges...are completely outside that purview._ _

__"James, I'm theater. A good many such men dwell in this _demi-monde_ , and I made the acquaintance of several of them. Very few exhibited the classical symptoms of sexual inversion. Most were just about as good or bad as anyone else in the troupe." Artie laughed a little. "Mostly bad -- but actors as a species are notoriously immoral."_ _

__Artie's smile faded. "But Jim -- Miguelito is bad, right down to his bone-marrow. Evil. Mad. Full of hatred. Obsessed with you. And he gives indications that he's sexually obsessed with you as well. He looked at you just now, the way cattle drovers look at a barmaid."_ _

__Jim just looked confused, incomprehending._ _

__"Jim." Artie poured every ounce of his love for the man into that word. "He may...abuse you. And if...if it happens, and it's too much for you...if the thought of it is too much for you...say the word 'Maude,' and I'll stop him."_ _

__Jim, poleaxed though he was, automatically shook his head. "It won't happen. You're just...worried, scared. Jumping at ghosts. I'll be all right, Artie."_ _

___How I pray it too, dear man._ "Very well." Artie closed his eyes and composed himself. He'd armed Jim, as best he could. "How are your bruises?" he asked, to change the subject._ _

__"On top of each other," West groaned. "Man's an expert -- him and Voltaire. Nothing's broken. But I'll need a bath in your salve when we get back to the train."_ _

__Even simply to speak of it, even here, was a repose -- this reminder of their fortress, their _querencia_ , their home. To speak so casually of their return was to assure themselves that they would return. Artie added to the phantom of comfort. "Capital idea, James. Then pheasant stew for dinner, and enough whiskey to kill a dozen men."_ _

__"You read my mind." West even managed a smile._ _

__"I've been your physician often enough. And then, a week in bed with an improving novel full of God-fearing righteous people and sound moral precepts -- to put you to sleep, of course."_ _

__It sounded like a pained cough, but Artie had made Jim laugh. It was such a tiny, tiny victory._ _

__Soon they heard the door open._ _

__Artie knew how Cassandra felt as she watched the Greek ships approach Troy. For it was Voltaire, and he carried a straw tick. Loveless followed the giant and the mattress down the stairs, carrying a small sloshing basin, whistling some light English air._ _

__As if in a dream Gordon watched Voltaire set down the tick between the two men. At the sight of Jim's face, as realization slowly dawned there, a high-pitched hum began in Artie's ears. When Loveless produced a knife, Artie looked into the turmoil of Jim's eyes and once again mouthed the word 'Maude.'_ _

__But Loveless only used the knife to cut away Jim's soiled trousers, and he bathed Jim's lower body (the leg welts were vicious-looking, but had not bled nor broken the skin; it was the only relief Artie found). Loveless' touches were as impersonal as a nurse's. But now Jim was completely naked._ _

__Voltaire unbolted the frame from the floor and simply lowered the entire iron frame over the tick with Jim still bound within it, face down, his bruised and battered body naked and spread wide, nearly at Artie's feet. The vulnerability of the man was an obscenity, his back exposed to his enemy in this way._ _

__Through the hum in his head Gordon heard Loveless say, "Voltaire, you've served admirably. You may leave us. In fact, I'm perfectly safe here on my own. Why don't you take Antoinette to the theater tonight?" The giant inclined his head and ascended the stairs. Only when the door closed did Loveless return his attention to his prone captive. "Voltaire is such an innocent, Mr. West. I don't like to expose him to this sort of thing. It's all so sordid."_ _

__The hum became a shriek. Jim's gun kissed Artie's temple, crooning its promise to end the show, save Jim, stop Loveless, only a moment of pain, and Jim would be whole and alive to avenge him... _Not until "Maude," not until you hear the command.__ _

__Dry-eyed and dry-mouthed, Artie watched Loveless disrobe completely to reveal a man's muscles on a child's arms, strong legs that did not belong to that tiny torso, and a swollen male member fully as large and fearful-looking a weapon as it would be upon an ordinary man's -- and all the more monstrous in proportion to its owner's size. Naked, Loveless looked like a demon, an incubus._ _

__"Mr. Gordon," Loveless said as he knelt between Jim's spread legs; his voice was as casually polite as ever, but there was a quaver in it, and his eyes glittered fever-bright with anticipation of pain. "You do remember how to stop me, don't you?"_ _

__" _No_ ," rasped the voice muffled in the straw tick._ _

__Loveless started and stared at the captive beneath him._ _

__Jim West turned his head so that he faced Artie. His eyes burned with pain, shock, terror. Rage. "No," he rasped again, his eyes not leaving Gordon's._ _

__Loveless was so focused on his captive, he did not see Artie hold Jim's eyes and mouth the words 'I love you. Always. Always.'_ _

__"Brave words, Mr. West," Loveless growled, his rage at his foe's courage building like a riverboat's overheated boiler. "Only words. By the time I'm through Mr. Gordon will be dead!"_ _

__And Artie watched, holding his friend's eyes with his own dry hot ones, tongue stone, his heart a ball of molten lead inside him, as Dr. Loveless raped Jim West._ _

__It hurt both of them; Loveless's face contorted even as did Jim's during the abuse. It was the pain Miguelito reveled in, always -- pain and not pleasure, hatred and not love, destruction rather than creation._ _

__Artie watched the destruction with open eyes, unaware that his own straps cut into his flesh as he strained against them, unaware of his voice growing hoarse from screaming. He watched Jim's stone look become replaced by one of horror, despair, humiliation as the abuse continued. Loveless did not relent; years of hatred boiled together with his unclean lust drove him to repeatedly thrust his sword deep into his enemy. Jim pulled at his bonds and whimpered and twisted his body but Loveless continued to abuse him as if Jim were a whore plying her wares in a filthy alley._ _

__The look in Jim's face changed. Now he knew. He looked at Artie, begging him, begging him with his eyes to make it stop. That look would have broken his heart, if it was not already too late for that. Jim's mouth opened, shaking with shock._ _

___"Maude," Jim. "Maude" and it's over--_ _ _

__But now a memory froze Artie's finger, refused to let him stop it _now_ by spraying his brains over the knotted combatants on the filthy bed. The memory, a horror that had been the worst moment of his life until a few minutes ago._ _

__Emmet Stark's set-up. That moment when a drugged, dazed, disoriented Artie had shot an enemy dead -- only to find that it was Jim he'd just shot. Those 30 seconds when he'd believed Jim dead at his hand... If Jim hadn't whispered from the ground for Artie to play along, Gordon would have mown the conspirators down in cold blood, and then stuck the rifle barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger._ _

__If Artie blew out his brains now, even at Jim's frenzied plea, Jim would be alone, with the deed already done -- and the knowledge that Artie had died at his request. And then Jim would follow suit with the other pistol. Loveless wanted them both destroyed._ _

__He would live forever with this horror tattooed into his brain. But he would not make Jim live with the realization that he'd caused Artie's death. This way, both would live. It was a horror. But it would not be fatal._ _

__So even as Jim shuddered, and cried out in pain when Loveless leaned against the open wounds on his back, and Jim's agonized eyes begged for an end to the ordeal, Artie did not look away from the atrocity committed before him. He projected every atom of his love for the man into his eyes and face, how he admired and respected Jim for his courage and strength even now, and how he hated Loveless for hurting him, and how no power on earth could force Jim West to--_ _

__"MAUDE!!!" Jim screamed, arching back, open mouth sobbing, eyes tight shut. "MAUDE!"_ _

__Artie drew in a breath made of knives, and the tears spilling from his eyes withered before the force of that desert blast. For the second time, Loveless had pushed Jim to an extreme that would have resulted in Artie's death. He'd broken Jim's will._ _

__But Artie's finger stayed frozen in the air, remembering a body at his feet and a shotgun in his hand._ _

___Hate me for this, Jim, hate me forever, don't hate yourself--_ _ _

__Hate. Oh, Loveless had finally and truly torn down that barrier, in his urge to tear apart the bond that held his two worst enemies together. No more pity for the twisted genius. No more regret for his wasted potential._ _

__Artie shed no more tears during the ordeal. He built a wall, neatly and methodically, with bricks made of ice, around his perimeter. This Esquimaux fortress would give him the power to do what he would._ _

__It stopped, eventually. Even Loveless wearied of his sport, and released West. There was blood. Flushed and wild-eyed with triumph, he looked over at Artie. "Why, Mr. Gordon -- you're still alive! Your instinct for self-preservation over your friend's sensibilities is not very admirable at all."_ _

__Artie's face was stone, despite the tears and snot._ _

__"Oh, I know it's a pity," Loveless continued, cleaning himself with the remnants of West's shirt. West's face was buried in the tick, averted from the two men who'd witnessed his degradation, quivering, silent. "You'd so anticipated introducing Mr. West to our kinds' pastimes and pleasures. And here I've gone and spoiled it."_ _

__Jim's body stiffened._ _

__One last lance flew through a hole in the wall and straight into Artie's heart. Loveless might as well have flayed Gordon with that cane._ _

__"Oh, Mr. West, didn't you know that about your partner?" Loveless said to the limp body in the ticking. "A shameful secret for a Secret Service man, hm? Sexual deviancy is frowned on in government. Why, Artemus Gordon must have _lied_ about his boudoir habits to attain his post! Right now he is _furious_ at me, because I took you before he could!"_ _

__Artie was a coal-box -- wrought iron, riveted and bolted tight. Keep a lid on the coal-box. Close it tight. Let it stoke the fire when it is finally free to burn._ _

__"Why, your friend is such a degenerate that he chose to save his own life rather than save you from my...interests." Loveless smiled at the cowering back and the iron-eyed captive. "This time, any way."_ _

__This time._ _

__"Better luck next time," Loveless said, donning his clothes again, wincing a little. "I really need some sleep, as you can imagine. So do you, Mr. West. You're already in bed and you are simply blanketed in shame. All you have to do is close your eyes and rest._ _

__"I'll be back tomorrow morning, and we'll try this again. Any scientist will tell you that you can't measure something if you only have one sample."_ _

__A tiny sound came from the body on the bed._ _

__Artie's face was stone. His heart was ice. His soul was steel. His eyes were dead. "Me," he rasped._ _

__Loveless turned toward Gordon._ _

__Artie pulled at his restraints, staring at the prone battered body. " _Me_. My turn," he panted. "I've waited so long. So _long_."_ _

__"Mr. Gordon?" The look on Loveless' face was of astonishment...and a faint glimmer of triumph._ _

__"I waited, and waited. But it never happened! And now -- now you've destroyed it forever. But you can't leave me with him like this and not let me try this one time! The one chance I'll ever have!" In Gordon's voice and in his face was all the hatred, hunger, rage and madness of a fallen, depraved soul, one whose love has seared away and left lust blazing in its wake. "Watch us. Kill me afterwards. I don't care. I've got to have him. Just once!"_ _

__"Why, Mr. Gordon," Loveless said softly. "How the mighty have fallen."_ _

__"It was your doing, you twisted bastard," Gordon choked, his hands shaking. His voice shook. "It's over now. It's all over. Just give me this, you God-damned bastard. Just this."_ _

__"Whom the gods would destroy," mused the little man, eyes alight with interest. "So it was you who loved him more than he loved you after all, Mr. Gordon. And now it has turned like milk with vinegar added. You are now truly as depraved and brutal as is inevitable for our kind. It was a very fine veneer, Mr. Gordon, and a very fine brain."_ _

__"To hell with my brain! You've taken my heart away!" Once again, tears trickled down Gordon's wide-open eyes. "He'll never love me now. He'll never trust me again. We are dead, the two of us. I will never have his love now. There is only one thing I can have, and then I can die. If you refuse me, Loveless, I can at least give myself that option." His finger began to lower. The chain tautened._ _

__Loveless seized the finger and bent it back so fiercely that Artie cried out in pain, and yanked off the banded chain. "No! Bad! Very bad!" He was in his usual fiercely petulant mode again, glowing with the conquest of his two most hated rivals' body and mind. "You will not die until I say you can, Mr. Gordon!" He looked at the prone splayed body. "So, even now you are so enamoured of your Mr West that you'd accept him even as a crate of damaged goods."_ _

__"Anything," Artie whispered between his teeth. It was the voice of a degraded Indian begging for whiskey at a fort's gateway. " _Anything_."_ _

__Loveless looked from Gordon to West and back. The glow like a bad lobster was back in his eyes, the glitter of madness and rage. "You would debauch this man...this man you loved...before my very eyes?" One small hand reached into his pocket and pulled out a derringer. The other pulled out a key._ _

__Artie stared at the key, eyes wide with fear. "No, no no I wouldn't," he babbled. But he stared at Jim again with brutal hunger. "I can't, I wouldn't, don't ask me to--"_ _

__Loveless held the derringer unwavering between Gordon's eyes and reached for the locks under the chair's arms._ _

__"Don't let this happen," Artie wept, cringing away from the approaching key. "I was mad for a moment, nothing more, just my depravity trying to overthrow my soul. Leave that alone, leave it alone! Don't let me get near him!"_ _

__"On the contrary, Mr. Gordon, I intend to _order_ it." And with a single clink the lock was disengaged from the strap around Artie's left arm. "One false move and I pull--"_ _

__Loveless jolted and grunted, eyes wide with rage at his own stupidity, and slumped to the ground. Artie's rigid-bladed left hand shot back from the blow that had struck Loveless' shoulder nerves and snatched the key from the limp hand in midair._ _

__Gordon freed himself and fell from the chair, nearly on top of the bloodied captive. "Jim," he whispered. "It's over. He can't hurt you any more. We're going back to the train." He crawled to the table and returned with a knife -- something Loveless had obviously been preparing to use for the next bout._ _

__Once freed, the Agent in James West moved under its own automaton power. He tottered to his feet, gingerly dressed in his ruined and filthy clothing, stared without expression at the small figure sprawled by the chair. West pulled his gun free of the wooden device and aimed it downward, pulling the trigger._ _

__A clicking sound was his only response. The gun was unloaded. Nothing would have happened if Artie had triggered the device._ _

__They heard a voice from above -- Antoinette, accompanied by a heavy tread. Voltaire._ _

__Without looking at each other, the two men fled the room via a cellar door to the outside before Miguelito's retinue could return._ _

__When they were well away from the abandoned house, Artie looked over at his companion. Jim still had not said a word since he'd screamed "Maude." Blood was soaking through the tattered shirt. Every breath sounded as if it was taken in pain. Without a second thought Artie put an arm out. "Here, James, you'd better lean--"_ _

__West pulled away from the contact. He had not yet looked at Gordon._ _

__"Jim, you're hurt. You need help if we're going to get back to the train," Artie said harshly, and took Jim's elbow. He pretended not to mind the shudders he felt as he guided his stumbling friend away from the accursed place and toward their waiting fortress._ _

___Everything will be all right. We'll get back to the train, put this all behind us the way we always do, and we will be all right again._ _ _

__The trouble with being an actor was that you knew all too well when you yourself were lying._ _

__###_ _

__The bull returns to his _querencia_ , the one spot in the _corrida_ he feels safe, and finds there another picador ready to strike._ _

__A man sails home after years abroad, to find the house demolished and its occupants scattered or dead._ _

__West and Gordon returned to the train, and Loveless returned with them though the little man showed neither hide nor hair._ _

__During the following week West healed quickly, as he always had after a physically brutal ordeal. He endured Gordon's ministrations and bowls of broth without looking at him, and shuddered every time he was touched. By day, awake, he was silent, wordless; by night, asleep, he was loud, voluble._ _

__War-sickness. Gordon was back in the tent-hospital, staring in despair at yet another shrieking soldier with not a wound on his body. There was no Pasteur for this disease either._ _

__There was nothing Artie could do to comfort the afflicted man. They didn't even have a body to show for the horrific night -- Loveless had been insensate when they'd fled the return of his henchmen, but he'd survived too many encounters that should have proved fatal. Two men lived who'd witnessed West's degradation._ _

__He sweated through his own night-horrors in silence and prepared meals which went mostly uneaten._ _

__###_ _

__"Is it true?"_ _

__They were the first words Jim had spoken since the cellar. He still did not look at Gordon._ _

__"What Loveless said about my proclivities? Yes, James," Artie said simply, staring into the basin of soapy water rather than at the man he'd just finished giving a sponge-bath. "That much is true. I am an invert. I've danced and dined and flirted with the fair sex because I am a good actor, not because I was attracted to them." His old friend Lily had been the only exception to his façade, and that only because he'd been offering security to both of them, as fellow inverts._ _

__Jim had said not a word since, awake. He had not let Artie bathe him again either._ _

__###_ _

__Thank God for horses. Artie retreated to the stable car to curry and groom when the living car held too much fury. While Jim stonily drank his way through the liquor supply and played hours of solitary pool, Gordon brushed the mounts, shed a few silent tears, and told Eli and Nutmeg everything that had happened, ending in the destruction of their friendship._ _

__"I thought I was free of the curse," Artie said to Eli one night. Eli shook his mane, his coat like glossy black patent leather from all the attention. The horses, bless them, did not shy away from Gordon's touch. "I was wrong. In a world where God has ordained one head for each beast and man, we inverts are two-headed calves to be gawked at as freaks until our deaths._ _

__"He said he could endure anything if I were alive to take care of him at the end of it. He was wrong too. I am the cause of his pain now, and not the surcease of it._ _

__"There is only one thing I can honorably do, now."_ _

__He blinked angrily, and kept brushing Eli. No self-pity. And he'd be damned before he'd hang himself or something tediously moral like that. Jim didn't need a moral partner now. He needed a monster._ _

__###_ _

__Silas Marner proved useful in keeping Gordon's eyes averted from the silent grim man refilling his whiskey glass at the far end of the car. The flutter of feathers as Henrietta returned jolted Gordon out of his feigned reading, even as it set a stone in his stomach._ _

__He went to the cote and pulled out the exhausted messenger, caressing the breast feathers a little. The pigeons didn't mind when he touched them either._ _

__Reading the message produced only a resigned nod, and a bigger stone in his belly. YOUR DECISION IN FIVE DAYS. PITY TO LOSE YOU. HUSG._ _

__"We should be in Washington in five days," he said out loud, cheerily. "Once you've had a little time to recuperate, a new assignment will be just what's needed, James my boy."_ _

__No reply from the dedicated drinker._ _

__One last time. "Perhaps we can visit the Smithsonian and see what new treasures they've added since--"_ _

__"Do what you like." The voice was grating, low. "See whom you like. Just stay away from me."_ _

__The boulder cracked. "Damn it, James!" Artie snapped. "I've done my duty for years without your knowledge of my proclivities!"_ _

__"You lied to me." What venom in that low voice. "You lied to the President. What else have you lied about?"_ _

__Artie set his teeth rather than say something brutal. Wounded badgers in traps snapped at everything within reach. "I did not lie," he said, "when I said I love you."_ _

__West slammed the glass down on the board so hard it nearly broke. His hand was nearly a fist around the glass, white-knuckled, shaking. "Don't you dare. Don't you _dare_ come near me and say that!"_ _

__Rage built in Gordon's breast. It felt so much better than despair and horror. "I," he growled. "Am. Not. Loveless."_ _

__The stark look in Jim's face -- a look of raw terror that refused comfort -- was the final pebble on the scale. Crumpling the note in his fist, Artie snarled, "I'm going to bed."_ _

__He stalked from the room and entered the kitchen/lab/armory, pulling down the cot. He wondered if he'd ever feel good or happy again, then dismissed the thought. He couldn't waste time in self-pity._ _

__For such a small living space, the two men managed a remarkable feat of choreography all the way to Washington DC: they studiously avoided seeing each other for five days._ _

__###_ _

__Hiram Ulysses Simpson Grant read the single sentence written on the note before him, and regarded the man before him with a troubled look. "Might I ask for the reason for your resignation, Gordon?"_ _

__"My health, Mr. President," Artemus replied, eyes front and center. "This last assignment has taken too much from me. I require a visit to a spa to take the waters. I may be gone for months, perhaps even a year."_ _

__"A sabbatical, then."_ _

__Gordon shook his head. "I need to be completely detatched from the Secret Service during my convalescence. I want no one to know my whereabouts until I am prepared to divulge them. Even on sabbatical I would be an agent available to summon. Once my health improves, I hope to return here and once again resume my work as an agent."_ _

__Grant looked puzzled. "But surely Jim will know--"_ _

__"James West is to be kept uninformed of my whereabouts," Gordon replied. "Should he inquire, I am on a special assignment here in Washington." At the incredulous look on the President's face -- the man had assigned them together, and knew their loyalty to each other above and beyond duty -- Gordon continued. "This...illness...that has overtaken me nearly killed him. Any further exposure could prove fatal to him." He smiled wryly and shrugged one shoulder. "You know how Jim is, sir. He'd forget every warning I gave him and barge right into the fire anyway. This way he won't know where I am, and can't endanger himself."_ _

__Still puzzled, Grant nodded. He knew Jim West that well. "We'll be sorry to lose you, Artemus." He picked up a quill and scrawled his signature below the note. "Get well again, and return here."_ _

__"I hope to, sir."_ _

__Grant shook his head. "Truth be told, you and Jim look just about as bad as each other. Shouldn't he go with you?"_ _

__"Jim prefers to work his pain away. I'm a hedonist."_ _

__Grant gave a painful snort of recognition. "You're right there. I prefer to drown my pain myself." He stood and shook Gordon's hand. "Get well, Artie."_ _

__Four hours later Mr. Artemus Gordon left the train with a single large trunk containing his makeup and costumes, some of his lab tools, and a few changes of clothing. West was out getting drunk or carousing; he wouldn't be back till dark. Good, it would look more like a sudden assignment if they didn't make any goodbyes...Artie blinked, fiercely, murmured, "Be careful, Jim," and hailed a cab._ _

__###_ _

__The November weather was a perfect backdrop to the onerous charge of babysitting the biggest spoiled brat in the opera world. Grant hadn't wanted him thrown into something dangerous right away as his first assignment after his absence; Artie almost wished he had. The cotton helped._ _

__But better than the cotton was the sight of Jim West, looking trim and well -- and smiling. It had been so long..._ _

__At first it was as if they'd never parted. They'd laughed, they'd embraced, and Artie had regaled Jim with an effortless stream of D.C. gossip culled from a brief study of a scandal sheet._ _

__The old habits of their work kept them going through the bizarre plot involving a legendary opera singer and a masked figure's obsession with the dead woman. It was almost as if they'd never parted._ _

__When the onerous assignment was over and the diva was singing to her adoring public in safety once again, they returned to the train._ _

__The absence had pulled both of them toward each other, even after all that had happened. The look of uneasiness on Jim's face and the dark smoldering thing in Artie's heart could not stop their grins._ _

__Artie sat on the sofa with a carpetbag at his feet; he cupped his snifter and stared contemplatively into the amber pool while Jim told Gordon about his work with Jeremy Pike. It was clear that Jeremy and Jim had done good work together, but that West had missed his partner fiercely. None of his replacement partners had satisfied West, and Artie took a good deal of satisfaction in that._ _

__When the room was silent again, Artie looked up into Jim's eyes. "James," he said. "I have a confession to make."_ _

__Jim stared. And on his face was the memory of that horrible night._ _

__"You were told I was on assignment in Washington. In actuality I spent very little time in Washington. I was a free agent, looking for something. I found it. It's in this bag. I want you to have it."_ _

__With a puzzled frown, West looked at the bag, then opened it. His face slowly became stone. He stared at the contents in dead silence._ _

__"Hard to believe that he actually had one, isn't it?" Artie said coolly._ _

__Still mute, Jim West lifted out an ornate sealed glass jar full of clear fluid, about the size of a canning jar. Floating in the fluid was a human heart. A small human heart._ _

__West looked into Artie's eyes, his mouth open, all the horror and pain back in his eyes. "This isn't...Artie, this can't be what it looks like."_ _

__Artie matched the look of horror with his own pitiless stare. "I'm afraid it's exactly what it looks like, James my boy." The dark thing inside him snarled like a cougar. "I wasn't on assignment at all. I resigned. I did this strictly as a free agent -- and as a man of honor."_ _

__"Honor." Jim formed the word as if choking on it._ _

__"I tracked him down, and found him in New Orleans. I spent a month observing his movements. His vanity was his downfall, as we always suspected it would be," Gordon added conversationally._ _

__It had almost been too easy; Artie had discovered which tailor Miguelito frequented, had acquired a job there under a new face and a new name, and excelled at the work so quickly that Francois trusted "Louis" with the job when Loveless scheduled a morning measuring appointment four months later. Francois had been at Mass when Loveless walked through the shop door at 9:30 in the morning, and Artie had been behind the door with a tape measure. It had taken less than four minutes to Pasteurize the little man._ _

__The killer met the eyes of his horrified listener and smiled wryly. "I'm sorry to say I enjoyed the experience. I thought I was better than that."_ _

__Jim West stared into the jar, silent with shock._ _

__"It's frighteningly easy to dispose of a body in New Orleans." Artie might have been telling Jim a delightful anecdote about some Senator's wife. "Especially if it's small enough to fit in a bag of fabric scraps and other garbage and tossed into the bayou. That brilliant brain of his probably wound up in an alligator's stomach." He grinned and tapped the jar. "But that, I kept."_ _

__Jim stared at Artie; but now some cold rage burned in his green eyes. "Did he--did he know--"_ _

__"I got him from behind. He never saw me. But I whispered to him. I told him who I was, why he was being murdered, how commonplace it was to be murdered by a jealous lover, and to take that knowledge to his pauper's grave." Judging from the look on Loveless' face when Artie had finally released him, it had had the desired effect._ _

__Jim flinched as if struck, at the word "lover."_ _

__"I told you I love you," Artie said harshly, his pain welling up once more now that he'd unburdened himself. "That hasn't changed. I am a man who loves you, so I am a lover of you." He leaned over and tapped the jar again, with its gruesome contents. "Sleep with that under your pillow, James. It just might counteract the nightmares."_ _

__Jim set the jar down. "How dare you? How dare you commit murder in the name of honor?"_ _

__Artie met the icy glare, and his own was frost. "How could I not dare? This is why I resigned -- I did this completely on my own, and no one knew where I was. Not you, nor Grant, nor the Secret Service, had a thing to do with it; this was between me and Miguelito. I couldn't share the same sky with a creature who'd hurt you so. He broke you. He made you say--"_ _

__Jim spun to leave the room._ _

__"He made you kill me!" Artie roared. "Twice!"_ _

__Jim froze in the doorway. His grip threatened to splinter the lintel._ _

__"He knew how to truly hurt you, didn't he?" Artie said fiercely. "You could shrug off a beating. You could endure physical pain. But to breach the citadel of your body, your mind, your spirit, your heart... he used me as the bait. He used your love for me as a weapon." The light dawned. "And that's why you drove me away. I was your Achilles heel--"_ _

__"No!" West snapped, facing Artie again. "Not for that reason! And not because of what you said! I was weak and I betrayed you!"_ _

__"Well, it didn't work," Artie said coolly. "I chose to ignore you and stay alive."_ _

__"But I said it. He made me -- made me --" Angrily Jim shook his head. "I couldn't even kill him. You killed for me. It should have been me. I'm the one he -- It wasn't your fight."_ _

__"It was always my fight," Artie said._ _

__"God dammit, Artie, I am not a woman!" West shouted. "I'm not an outraged mistress you had to avenge! A man fights his own battles! I could at least do that much!" He caught his breath, in rage._ _

__"A man fights for his friends," Artie countered angrily. "A man fights for his loved ones."_ _

__"He unmanned me and now you've done it!"_ _

__Stunned silence._ _

__West turned away to stare into the kitchen again. His voice was bitter. "I'm not a man any more. Not any kind of a man." He huffed out a humorless laugh. "Remember what I said? Before?"_ _

__Before. After. So this was how Jim marked time now, and possibly for the rest of his life._ _

__"I said I could take anything, as long as you were there afterward. That I could endure anything, if you were still alive at the end._ _

__"I was wrong. I endured, you lived. And a hook, an eyepatch, a wooden leg would be easier to live with than this -- this black tar at my very center. Dreams full of men laughing at me, or Loveless attacking me again, or you attacking me. Looking at women on the street and feeling -- nothing." Angrily, Jim snatched up the jar with its grisly contents. "Do you think this _thing_ will take the nightmares away? Do you think killing Loveless will make me a man again?"_ _

__"No," Artie snarled even as his heart wrung with pity for his friend. "I thought knowing your tormentor was _dead_ , by someone who'd do the job _right_ , would take the nightmares away." Artie took up the jar. "Take a good look, James. Vanitas, vanitatis. This lump of meat is all that's left of that brilliant, twisted man." He grinned coldly. "If you want, you can even indulge in Aztec catharsis. This liquid is alcohol -- plain grain alcohol. Miguelito's heart has been marinating for two months."_ _

__Jim made a horrified face and took a step away from the jar._ _

__"Yes. He'd sicken me too." Artie set the jar down on the mantel; it blended in shockingly well with the rest of the Victorian decor. "Still, I wouldn't consider it cannibalism -- that would require thinking of him as a human being."_ _

__Jim stared at Artie. "You've changed. You're...brutal."_ _

__Artie shook his head. "I haven't changed. I'm only showing it more, that's all. You never saw me all the times you were missing and I had to hunt you down. I frightened a lot of henchmen into talking just by staring at them._ _

__"You didn't need a partner to fight for your honor and lost manhood, James. You needed a monster to go after a monster. And I am a monster -- not because I am a sexual deviant, but because I become ruthless when you are threatened or hurt. For what Loveless finally did to you, I became an assassin. It is that which should repulse you from me, Jim, and not my proclivities."_ _

__Dark eyes met green eyes. "This monster loves you, James West. He loves you when you're frightened, sick, unkempt, drunk, boorish, callous, helpless...and unmanned. He loves you when you lose a fight, when you don't save the day, and when you wallow in self-pity. And he will always love you."_ _

__Artie reached to the mantel and handed Jim the trophy of his kill. "Keep that near your bed, Jim. Every time you waken from a bad dream, look at this._ _

__"I have now confessed to committing murder to an agent of the law. Murder, furthermore, of an unarmed civilian who posed no threat to me at the time I killed him. The next step is up to you."_ _

__Jim West looked at the jar and its gruesome contents, his face expressionless. "I haven't heard a word you said."_ _

__Artie nodded, moved in a way he could not describe fully. "Partners again?"_ _

__"I missed you like an amputated arm," Jim said simply._ _

__And for the first time in a long, long time, Artemus Gordon grinned with no savagery in it at all. "Then if you'll excuse me, James, I ought to unpack and do something about my room. Jeremy Pike had no sense of style at all."_ _

__Later that night, while poring over a book, Artie heard Jim whimper in his sleep and instantly cut it off. From the slight sloshing sound, he guessed that Jim was meditating on the fall of his Nemesis. What he wanted to do was to go to the man, put his arms around him, soothe him back into sleep, lie beside him warm and loved and loving -- but he couldn't, not now, not ever; thanks to Loveless, West would never regard such advances as anything but a horror._ _

__Artie blinked away the slight sting in his eyes, and was grateful they were still friends, still partners. They were now the sole witnesses of each other's worst moments._ _

__Besides, he'd made sure Miguelito understood to the very end what he'd stolen. Loveless had not been completely dead, nor completely unconscious, when Artemus had cut his heart from his chest._ _

__Artie turned a page, and smiled the smile that scattered henchmen._ _

__###_ _

__Life resumed on board. Life, as opposed to marking time, stonily performing one's duty, coldly tracking an adversary._ _

__The climate had been rocky between them in the raw aftermath of Loveless' attack -- but the eight-month absence had been a desert that had nearly parched both to death, unknowing. Simply seeing and hearing each other all day was a balm to frayed nerves._ _

__Jim slept deeper and was wakened less frequently by his dreams; he gained a little flesh and admitted how desperately he'd missed Artie's cooking (both had roared over Jim's description of Jeremy's omelettes); he boxed and exercised vigorously, obviously taking pleasure in the sparring and training. As for Gordon, he treaded lightly in this familiar territory as if afraid it would vanish once again, even as he reacquainted himself with the contents of his kitchen and the glossy hides of the horses._ _

__Best of all was their work; with every new assignment they fell back into their comfortable old team harness and never missed a step, as sure of each other's moves and their own as champion ballroom dancers._ _

__One morning Jim came to the breakfast table whistling. Artie looked up from pouring coffee, saw a sparkle in the eyes that had been missing for ages, and grinned wide as the Mississippi. "I take it your dreams are getting better."_ _

__West grinned; he practically radiated. "Much, much better."_ _

__"Oho," Artie said knowingly, and set the coffeepot down glowing with joy inside. He didn't ask for elaboration; gentlemen did not discuss such matters at the breakfast table -- or at all._ _

__But as Gordon returned to the kitchen to take the biscuits from the oven, a tune followed him in from the happy man at the table, who'd clearly had proof that he was still a man:_ _

__"Buffalo gals, won't you come out tonight, Come out tonight, come out tonight? Buffalo gals, won't you come out tonight, And dance by the light of the moon?"_ _

__###_ _

__The old prospector again. You worked with what worked. Grumbling to himself, the old forty-niner combed his gray whiskers with his fingers and downed shots of forty-rod whiskey in a corner of the saloon that offered prime viewing of everyone who entered and exited. Jim had made his way in an hour earlier; after a few drinks and casually mentioning that he was available for a piece of work from "the local gentlemen," he'd gone upstairs with one of the establishment's women, about ten minutes ago._ _

__Men had come and gone since. But the one who entered the Dead Dog just then -- medium height, sandy brown hair and long mustache, knife-scar on his chin -- could only be Alamo Long, the Indian gun-runner and one- man employment agency in this New Mexico cowtown._ _

__Artie conveniently chose that moment to pick a loud and garrulous fight with the barman about the potency of the local rotgut, letting Jim know their target was in range and ascending the stairs. Still in his corner, he settled down to enjoy the spectacle. In a place like this, it would be an oddity if a fight didn't break out every two hours or so. And this one would --_ _

__A woman's shriek of laughter pierced the deeper sound of men's voices. Artie's wasn't the only head that turned to look up._ _

__It was Jim stumbling out of the upstairs room, closely followed by the harridan laughter. "Forgot to load your gun before leaving the house!" the whore hooted. "Come back when your papa gives you some bullets, little boy!"_ _

__The men downstairs laughed. Alamo Long laughed. West's face turned white. Gordon could feel his own growing cold._ _

__The subsequent fight was among the most merciless Artie had ever seen Jim perpetrate on a room full of men. By the time the battered Long and the chief members of his gang were roped into custody, no one was laughing at the panting, bloodied man who'd taken them all on because he could not strike a woman._ _

__That night it was Artie who got Jim quietly and methodically drunk, under the guise of doctoring his bruises and battered knuckles._ _

__"Thought I was a man agin, Ar'ie," Jim slurred, staring fixedly at a point in the middle of the table, blinking at the sting of witch-hazel. "Was wrong. Cou'n't do 'nything. Jus'...dead." One hand waved vaguely from the waist down. "Dead."_ _

__"Sleeping," Artie corrected firmly. "Sometimes the best cure for a terrible injury is simply to let the patient sleep it off as much as possible. It's a relapse, James, nothing more."_ _

__"Been sleeping since...after." West's head sank to his folded arms. "'S been a year, Artie, a goddamn' year. Dream...dream was a lie."_ _

__"The bad dreams are lies. Not the good dreams. Loveless can't hurt you any more, and I'd die before I'd hurt you."_ _

__"S not true. You din't die. I had to lie there and...and...and he... and you didn't die and I got hurt and it's all gone now. And Loveless' still hurting me, still -- and they laughed at me, that was real goddammit!" Jim's voice had built to a near scream as he stumbled to his feet, yanking him away from Gordon's ministrations. "Ge' away from me goddammit you didn't stop him you bastard you didn't stop him!" And his voice was a scream, the same voice that had screamed the name of Artie's great-aunt._ _

__"I stopped his stinking heart cold!" Artie roared back, his own rage building like an overheated boiler. "I couldn't have stopped him, the damn gun was't loaded. I'm sorry I didn't blow my brains out! I can remedy that right now, if you want!"_ _

__"You wanted me. You begged him to let you... with me. Wanted me, you said so! Just like him!"_ _

__Artie hauled off and struck Jim West in the jaw, felling him. He straddled the stunned man. "I," he growled between his teeth, showing Jim the face he gave every terrified man that stood between him and finding his partner, "Am. Not. Loveless!" Taloning his fingers in Jim's dishevelled waistcoat, he hauled the smaller man to his feet._ _

__The look in despair-laden, drunken green eyes prepared for more pain._ _

__Artie reached for the jaw he'd just punched...and caressed it with his open hand, cupping Jim's cheek just a little._ _

__Jim blinked in disbelief._ _

__"James," Artie said, gently stroking his partner's jaw and cheek with his hand over and over. "Am I punching you in the jaw right now?"_ _

__West blinked. "No," he mumbled._ _

__Artie changed the touch to a stroke down the other cheek with the back of the hand, fingers trailing from ear to chin. He never looked away from those pain-filled green eyes that pierced his own heart. "Jim. Am I backhanding you right now?"_ _

__"Course not," Jim whispered._ _

__Artie lifted one of Jim's hands, bandaged knuckles and all, and kissed its back, trailing his lips across Jim's fingers. "Did you just punch me in the mouth?" he said drolly even as his love swelled inside._ _

__"'S ridiculous." But Jim looked as if he'd discovered a new continent._ _

__Artie reached for Jim's jaw again, this time to tilt it slightly. He smiled tenderly, and came in slowly for a touch of lips to stiff and surprised lips. "Do you want to hit me?" he said when he was done._ _

__"No. Never," Jim stammered._ _

__"Did I hurt you or make you feel bad by doing any of these things?"_ _

__Jim shook his head, still blinking at having been kissed by his partner._ _

__"Then I am not just like Loveless in this. Am I?"_ _

__Jim's face flushed. "No."_ _

__Artie resumed his caresses across Jim's shoulders and chest, and it was like reaching the oasis and taking that first long, deep drink of water. "Are you afraid?"_ _

__"Yes." A whisper._ _

__Artie stopped at once and took his hand away. "I will never hurt you. Not your body, not your mind, not your spirit..." and he rested his open palm against Jim's left breast. "...not your heart."_ _

__Jim looked puzzled and relieved all at once. He took a deep breath as if he hadn't in a while. "That felt...nice."_ _

__Artie smiled and nodded, and removed his hand again. "Sleeping, James. Only sleeping. It needs a gardener who won't yank it out of the soil while the snow is still on top; one who will let the sun melt the snow, will clear the weeds, bring water and food, and coax it into the sunlight." He busied himself with the practicalities of putting away his doctor kit. "That saloon was full of trash, that woman among them. She isn't every woman you'll meet from now on. Go sleep it off."_ _

__Still giving Artie incredulous looks, West retired for the night._ _

__Artie exhaled, and gripped the table. Courage, Artemus old boy. Make a feast from that handful of crumbs, and a suit of armor for the time he reawakens and finds a decent prostitute._ _

__###_ _

__One side-effect of honesty was enjoying a free night. Artie adjusted the heat under the test tubes and watched the color of the liquid change, jotting down the exact shades as they appeared._ _

__Jim was still out seeing the town with Miss Katherine Parker, grateful to the handsome stranger who'd rescued her father from a gang of cutthroats. When Miss Parker had suggested a young friend of hers to accompany Mr. Gordon, Artie had made his gallant excuses and Jim had nodded, supporting his retreat._ _

__It was a relief not to be roped into his friend's perambulations with the ladies, chatting with the sweet thing on his arm and silently aching at every smile Jim directed at his own escort. Chemical reactions were predictable, stable, you knew what would happen when you added this to that._ _

__He heard the jingle of Eli's bridle approaching the train. It was nearly ten. Not that he'd been listening, of course -- or keeping track of the time._ _

__Jim came in, and Artie gave a nod of greeting. Jim smelled of kerosene smoke. Stage lights -- they'd been to a show of some kind. Coffee -- they'd gone out afterwards._ _

__Jim passed by the tiny lab where Artie sat. And Artie nearly jumped at the feel of two strong hands on his shoulders._ _

__"James?"_ _

__"She was pert, pretty, smart," Jim said. "And I was bored. During the play, all I could think was 'Artie could perform that better, and get a bigger laugh,' or 'Artie would love to try on that costume.' I missed the way we'd go out together with our ladies. And I suddenly realized that if the ladies were missing we would still have had a fine time. I missed you."_ _

__Artie nodded, trying to quell his panicking heart. "What of your... sleeping urges?"_ _

__Jim chuckled, a sound like a bath in warm milk to Gordon's ears. "Not asleep any more. You were right, Artie. I look at young ladies and an urgency is in the way I look at them again._ _

__"But every time I thought of you tonight, I lost track of the play -- and of Miss Parker. And I nearly embarrassed myself in public."_ _

__Gordon's heart was now trying to leap out of his chest, ready for the knife. But he felt the slight quaver in the strong hands still holding his shoulders. "Jim."_ _

__"Artie. I'm...afraid. I feel more for you than for any woman I've been with, ever. And now, it's mixed in with urgency. I'm terrified."_ _

__Artemus Gordon sent a silent, thankful prayer to whichever God had decreed the presence of inverts in a world of ordinary men. He looked up at his friend. "James. This is a new territory for you. All you need is an experienced guide. One who will not lead you into terror and evil."_ _

__"It is evil. It's sinful. I know this." West's face creased in a puzzled frown. "But I don't _feel_ that any more. I didn't feel dirty or cowardly when you touched me, that night. Not the way I did when that woman threw me out."_ _

__Gordon turned off his burner, set the test tube aside to cool, and arose to meet his friend's troubled eyes with a look of pure love -- the one he'd thrown to Jim as a lifeline during the ordeal suffered at the hands of the beast whose heart now gathered dust in Jim's stateroom. "Do you love me?"_ _

__"Of course I do." Jim almost seemed insulted._ _

__"Do you trust me?"_ _

__"With my life." Jim thought, then smiled, slowly. "And with my body, my mind, my spirit, and my heart."_ _

__Artie lifted Jim's hands and pressed a kiss to them both. "And you don't fear taking a monster into your bed?"_ _

__Jim grinned -- a look nearly the mirror image of Gordon's most frightening smile. "Not a monster who brings me such wonderful gifts."_ _

__Artie threw his head back and joined Jim in laughter -- a laugh that was cut off when it was Jim who moved in to give Artie a kiss. Artie responded, as if he could do anything else; it was as overwhelming and soul-destroying as he'd hoped and feared._ _

__Jim tugged his partner's hands. "Show me. Show me this world."_ _

__"On one condition, James. The second I show you anything that troubles you or frightens you, say so." But Artie was grinning too hard to invest that caveat with fear. "Tonight, I'll continue what I showed you before. Nothing but hands tonight." At Jim's confused look, he laughed gently. "James my boy, there are a hundred and one ways for two men to love each other -- even if there is only one way for a man and a woman to do the same."_ _

__Jim was still digesting that as Gordon pulled West toward the stateroom._ _

__###_ _

__Artie awoke first; Jim was still dead to the world, sleeping like a peaceful infant. And the first thing Gordon did was to roll over and grin in savage triumph at the jar on Jim's night-stand which had witnessed the whole thing._ _


End file.
